"Yes." I studied him for a moment. "Why?"
"Because I will use the time to research the Rakshasa."
And leave me unguarded? Interesting, given the attack only this morning.
I do not—would not—leave you unguarded. I will simply request help with this matter. He walked around the bed and touched a hand to my elbow, lightly guiding me to the door. This distrust of yours grows old, Risa.
I guess it would, but I just couldn't help it. We both knew that no matter what he said or did, in the end, his mission was the only thing that mattered. Right now, that mission and I were intimately connected, but if something happened to alter that situation, then I'd more than likely find myself unguarded and alone.
He didn't say anything to that, even though he would have heard the thought as clearly as if I'd said it out loud. Maybe, despite all his declarations, he knew it to be the ultimate truth.
I returned the key, then headed back down the street to my bike. The ride to work cleared my head a little, as did getting lost in the mad rush of food and alcohol service that the next eight hours at the café brought. Business was still booming, and if it continued at this rate, we were going to have lines of people waiting to get in that rivaled anything the Blue Moon—which was only several doors up the road—had. Which was amazing, considering the Blue Moon was one of the most popular wolf clubs in Melbourne, and we were only one of many cafés catering to the hungry hordes that spilled over from it.
The night went by fast, and once the next shift had rolled in and the changeover was completed, I counted the takings, then ran upstairs to have a shower, washing the grime of the shift and the lingering smell of ghostly deaths—a smell that was in my mind rather than on my skin—away.
It was nearly four by the time I got home and I barely had the energy to even strip. I was fast asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow.
The play of fingertips across my bare back stirred me hours later. I murmured sleepily, not ready to wake yet. The gentle caress paused, as if waiting for sleep to claim me again. Dream, I thought wistfully. Only the dream smelled of lemongrass, suede, and musky, powerful male. I smiled. Lucian.
The play of fingertips began again, sweeping slowly down my spine, the movements teasing, erotic. I became aware of his weight resting gently on my legs, of the heat of desire that swam all around me. The force of it burned my skin.
His big hands briefly cupped my butt and pressed my cheeks together. He kissed each one, the touch so light I barely felt it, yet it sent a tremor that was all anticipation shooting through my core. His touch moved on, down to my thighs, then slowly between them, until his fingers slid through waking slickness and found my clit.
A moan escaped and he chuckled softly. "It seems my plan to take you when you sleep isn't quite going as I'd envisioned."
He continued to stroke me, sending little shudders of pleasure skating through me, making it difficult to think, let alone talk. I licked my lips and croaked, "And what fun is there to be had in loving an unresponsive body?"
"Oh, none at all." He pressed two of his fingers into me, sliding them in and out. I shuddered and raised my butt a little, allowing him greater access. He chuckled again, but his movements remained deliberate and painstakingly slow. "The fun comes with wakefulness, in feeling your surprise when—a heartbeat before your orgasm hits you—you realize that I've been fucking you senseless."